


Rolling

by Semebay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drugs, Ecstasy - Freeform, Jealousy, M/M, Nightclub, Recreational Drug Use, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night club. Ecstasy. Possession. Porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rolling

**Author's Note:**

> Original Publication Date: September 19, 2010
> 
>  
> 
> Also, E totally doesn't work this way. I know that. But nations don't work this way either, so.... yeah.

  
  


America had known about England's past... _experience_ with parties and movements. He had seen the punk years first hand, and had been there when England had told him about how the institution was going to hell. That revelation had been followed by alcohol and sex, and the taste of metal when he discovered that England had pierced his tongue (that explained why the accent was _so_ much worse).

 

England had been a bit _unstable_ those years. He had rocked back and forth, from movement to movement, anarchy one moment and apathy the next. Meetings had been chaotic, as no one had known what to expect. Nations had sat in wait in the meeting rooms, not knowing whether England would enter and take his seat, or try to set the Italys on fire (again).

 

Then the movements had died down, and England was calm again. Nations breathed a sigh of relief, and then they only had to worry about France and England potentially starting another war over proper etiquette and placement of hands. America could continue with his rants about robots, and the Italys no longer had to actively watch out for England's rage.

 

From America's experience, he should have expected that another movement would eventually come in and take hold of England. He shouldn't have been surprised when he walked into the bedroom they shared in Chicago to find England stripped down to his underwear, and turning a pair of pants over in his hands. He may not have expected to find an array of glowsticks and gloves, as well as a few items that he couldn't identify (and wasn't sure if he wanted to), but he shouldn't have been as confused as he was.

 

“England?” America walked to the bed and picked up a foil-wrapped glowstick. The label told him it was purple, and he looked at the man on the other side of the bed. “What're you doing?”

 

“There's a rave tonight,” England said. He looked at America and twisted his lips into an expression of deep thought. “Do you think this would be too hot?”

 

America stared at the baggy pants in silence. He tried to imagine England wearing the bright green pants , but it was difficult. The image of England in tight pants from his punk era (as well as the smart pants he always wore to the meetings and... _everywhere_ ) prevented him from even _thinking_ of something with that much extra fabric and baggage.

 

England seemed to take America's silence as an affirmative, and the pants were tossed to the side and onto the floor. England started rifling through his bags for more clothing.

 

America stared at the discarded pants. “You're going to a rave?”

 

“It's legal,” England offered, and he paused to look at a pair of shorts.

 

America was sure he heard England say “sadly” under his breath, but he decided to ignore it. “Where is it?”

 

“Just outside of town.”

 

“Oh.” America waited for England to say something more, but the other was too busy trying on the pair of shorts from his suitcase. “So...”

 

“You want to come?” England paused and looked over his shoulder at America. America nodded, and England shrugged before pulling up the shorts and buttoning them. “Then come. No one's stopping you.”

 

America tilted his head to the side. “England, are you having a movement again?”

 

“What?” England had been reaching for a shirt, but he stopped to stare at America in confusion.

 

“Never mind.” America watched in silence when England pulled on a sleeveless shirt, and he stared at England's arms. He wasn't sure he liked the fact that England was going to be showing off or whatever he did at the rave. He could only imagine how many girls (and guys) would sidle up to him to lean off those thin (but muscled) arms. As such, he had to be there to protect England from being molested (or worse).

 

That was what led to America following England into an old warehouse, where lights flashed and some girl flashed him immediately upon entering. America's first reaction was to grab England and show that he certainly _wasn't_ alone, but then he saw that England was staring openly (and enjoying the view). He wasn't sure what to think of that, and his hand never reached England's. Instead, he followed behind and tried to get into the mood of the people moving around him.

 

It wasn't difficult. America found it all to easy to fall into step with the crowds. The people moved as individuals, but there was a strange sense of unity as the music blasted and the lights flashed. There were smoke machines overhead, leaving the room clouded and scattering the beams from the laser lights. There were glow sticks everywhere, and then England was snapping his own glowstick and shaking it to get the chemicals moving.

 

The green was almost blinding, and America turned his head away to look towards the DJ in charge of the music and laser shows. England was moving quickly through the crowds, unfazed by the people that rubbed against him and shouted to one another. England was getting as close as he could to the stage, obviously wanting to get in on the music. America looked around and wondered if there was really anything he could do. People were having fun and hanging out, and while he was always ready for a party, he really didn't trust England to behave himself.

 

America found himself pulled into a dance with some random girl decked out in pink and beads, and England slipped his mind for a moment. The place was stifling, and he found himself sweating when people pushed up against him and moved to the music. He had lost sight of England, but (due to a lack of judgement) decided that it would be all right. After all, how much trouble could England get into?

 

When America went off in search of water, he found out exactly how much trouble the man could get into. He was returning to the crowds with water bottles in hand (sure that England would be thirsty), when he noticed that a new DJ had taken the stage. People were pushed up against the stage, cheering and jumping up and down with the music and the lights. There were people being held on shoulders and cheering, and when America began his search for England, it wasn't that hard to find him.

 

England was proudly perched on top of a stranger's shoulders, directly in front of the stage.

 

He was also missing his shirt.

 

Like any good significant other, America was obviously jealous. And slightly alarmed. England was usually good about staying loyal, even when going through his phases. The fact that the island nation was perched on a random human's shoulders wasn't alarming, but the fact that his crotch was eye(mouth)-level with the man's head _was_. That was probably what led to America pushing through the crowds of people, forcibly separating a couple with locked lips, and probably confusing and scaring his citizens on his way to the front. England looked down at him, and America tried to ignore how one of England's hands was carding through the hair of the man he was on top of, while the other reached out to a girl on the shoulders of another man.

 

“Hey, dude, he's mine.” America pointed up with his index fingers, and the man supporting England stared at him as though he had an extra head. “Can I have him back now?”

 

The man shrugged and tugged on England's leg. England looked down with a frown, and America smiled.

 

“We've gotta go, Arthur,” America said, and England cocked an eyebrow at him.

 

“What?” England asked, and America could _swear_ that England had settled in place.

 

“We're leaving. Get down here.” America reached up, and England frowned before leaning forward and letting America pull him out of the air. America wasted no time in pulling him out of the crowds and towards the exit. England had taken one of the bottles of water from him, and followed willingly as they left the warehouse and began to search for their car.

 

The ride back was uneventful, if not a bit distracting. England played with a variety of glowsticks, waving them back and forth and humming one of the songs that had been played at the rave. The glowsticks kept catching America's attention, and by the time he pulled into his driveway he was still seeing the lights even when England had hidden them in his pockets. He climbed out of his car and waited for England to follow, and was surprised when arms wrapped his chest from behind and almost pulled him back away from the door of his house.

 

“Bit clingy?” America laughed and pushed open the door, and barely had time to shut it before England had pressed lips to his neck and began to kiss him. America would have been lying if he had said he didn't like the attention, but while he enjoyed it, there was also a part of him that had to ask, _What the fuck?_

 

England didn't come on that strong. _Ever_. Hugging in the driveway (even if it was one in the morning) didn't happen. And molesting him immediately upon entering the house didn't usually happen unless he was-

 

“Are you _drunk_?” America asked in horror. He turned to face England, and carefully pushed him back a step.

 

England stared at America with a look that clearly said, _You fucking idiot_ , and reached forward to cup America's chin in his hand. “Of course not.” He moved closer and tried to wrap his arms around America once more, but the other was stiff in his embrace. “America.”

 

“Last time we had sex when you were drunk, you said I took advantage of you!” America complained. “I'm not sle-”

 

“I'm not drunk,” England said, enunciating his words and pushing America back against the wall. His hands roamed America's chest, playing with his shirt.

 

“Then what are you?” America wondered, and England pressed up against him, his head fitting neatly on America's shoulder.

 

“Horny,” England decided, his breath tickling America's ear. “ _Needy_.”

 

“Did you take E?” America asked, his breath sounding loud to his own ears.

 

“Maybe.” England licked his chin, and America shivered.

 

“Fuck it.”

 

There was no warning when America grabbed England's legs and lifted him up. England wasted no time in wrapping his legs around America's waist, pushing himself up using America's shoulders and then locking lips with him. America moaned, deep in his throat, and then he started to walk.

 

America was lucky that England was a nation, because otherwise running into walls and tripping up the stairs would probably hurt like a bitch. His vision was blocked by England's bare chest, and he was quite distracted by the fact that England was rubbing against him, and trying to touch everything that he possibly could. America almost fell over when he hit his bedroom door and it fell open behind him, and he stumbled inside.

 

Two steps later and America fell back against the bed, England on top of him. America's hands tugged at England's hair, making him moan and curl his back. America smiled at the reactions, especially whenever England leaned down to rub his face into his shirt. He ran his fingers over England's bare skin, and the man on top of him seemed to melt in his hands. America reached for the drawer by his bed and pulled out a bottle, that England promptly stole and popped open.

 

England's face was red as he poured the lube onto his fingers and flexed them, entranced. He ignored the feeling of America's erection as it pressed against the clothing between them, and instead passed his hands over America's chest, pushing up the shirt and waiting for America to pull it off. When it was finally out of the way, England tugged at America's jeans. America swallowed and waited for England to do _something_ , and when it took too long for England to pull off his pants, America took things into his own hands.

 

America pulled England up and removed the bottle from his hands. He relieved himself of his jeans and then poured a small amount of lube onto his fingers before he slid his hand into England's shorts. He rubbed slowly and sat up, and pulled England into his lap where England could still mouth at his chest and neck. England whined, deep in his throat, and America pushed down his shorts with a hand. When the shorts were gone, he returned his fingers to England's ass and pressed inside.

 

England pushed down, trying to force America's finger deeper while at the same he tried to pressed his chest against America. His breathing was heavy, and became faster when America entered a second finger.

 

“You're nuts, you know that?” America asked him, and England nipped at his throat. America twisted his fingers and England's breath caught, before America pressed in another finger and made him keen.

 

“America,” England breathed, and America cut him off with a twist of his hand. England had his mouth open, but no sound came out, and he lowered his head to America's chest.

 

America removed his fingers and pulled England up. He used his free hand to slick himself with lube, and then he pressed into England.

 

England shuddered and leaned into America. He bit at America's collarbone and ran his lips over it, trying to distract himself from the momentary pain and at the same time trying to get America to _just fucking touch him._

 

America's hands were everywhere, and England was being thrust into. It was amazing. It felt like he was floating, as pleasure welled up inside him with every one of America's thrusts, and America's hands drifted over his bare skin. He sucked on America's skin, marking him and shivering at the sensations coursing through his blood. He was high on sex, on touch, and when America fisted a hand in his hair and pulled his head back so that he could mark _England's_ neck, England realized that he was high on America as well.

 

“England,” America moaned, and England could feel America's hand wrap around his cock. The movements were jerky, and England tried to press closer to America, whimpering with every thrust and jerk. He felt like water in America's hands. England was all over him, fluid, loose, and America thrust again, deeper than before, silencing England's moans and gasps. America thrust again and hit that same spot, making England arch back, fingers digging into skin. It was unbearably hot, and England was coming, clenching around America. He stilled, his body trembling as America released, and then he fell against him.

 

The room was silent save for their heavy breathing. England couldn't find it in himself to move, but America slowly moved his hands over his shoulders. England sighed into America's chest, his eyelids fluttering while he tried to stay awake.

 

“Go to sleep, England,” America muttered. “You can bitch me out tomorrow. Promise.”


End file.
